


Breakfast in Bed

by Sekiraku



Series: Bed Rest [1]
Category: Weak Constitution: Common Cat
Genre: Breakfast in Bed, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, M/M, Master/Pet, Master/Slave
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-04
Updated: 2019-05-04
Packaged: 2020-02-25 22:31:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18710989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sekiraku/pseuds/Sekiraku
Summary: This is a fanfiction of Awkward Dragon's series Weak Constitution: Common Cat. It takes place between Chapter 20 and Chapter 21, after Blue's been put to bed following his trip to the clinic.





	Breakfast in Bed

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Weak Constitution: Common Cat](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17302013) by [Awkward_Dragon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Awkward_Dragon/pseuds/Awkward_Dragon). 



> Kara isn't tagged because no matter how many times I typed him in, it kept changing him to Kara Zor-El. Admittedly, that would put an interesting twist on the story...

“Blue?”

As always, the sound of a voice snaps me instantly from sleep to wakefulness. I’ve jolted up to a sitting position before my eyes have even opened.

Something pulls against my legs and for a second I panic (hands? ropes?), but as my mind clears I realize that it’s only a blanket tangled around me. I’m in a bed, Master’s bed. And Master himself is sitting next to me, on a chair he must have dragged across the room. Stars, how did I sleep through that?

“M-Master! I’m s-so sorry, I-” I kick madly to escape the tangled blankets so I can slip out of the bed and kneel.

Master lays his hands on my flailing legs and I still at once, though my heart continues to batter at my chest. I fight the urge to look at his face and try to gauge whether I’ve displeased him too badly. This is the second day he’s owned me, and the second day I’ve overslept. He must think me so lazy, so useless-

“I’m sorry for waking you, Blue,” he says. Master’s voice is as warm and soft as the blankets still stubbornly twined around me, and I feel my body relax, just a little. “But it’s almost time to apply your medicine, and I thought you might like to have some breakfast first.”

Breakfast? Two days in a row? I wonder if he’s joking, but then I catch a heavenly smell in the air and at almost the same moment, I see the tray. Master’s set it on the desk I cleared of books yesterday- but I don’t want to think about yesterday. The tray holds a round-bellied pot, a collection of smaller bowls, little pitchers, a plate piled high with toast, a teapot, cups, the little yellow honey jar from last night… 

Master must see my gaze flicker to the desk, because he gets up from his chair and crosses over to it. He begins moving the food off the tray, filling the air with little clinks and clatters that remind me of Chef and his kitchens. Once the tray is clear, he lifts it, and I see that there are two. 

“What would you like on your oatmeal?” Master asks, lifting the lid from the pot. He picks up a bowl and begins filling it. 

I don’t know how to respond. It really seems as if he’s going to feed me again. I don’t want to say anything to jeopardize this chance.

“I- whatever pleases you, Master,” I finally manage. 

“Hmm.” He sounds disappointed, and I cringe, ears flattening themselves against my head. But he doesn’t put the bowl down. Instead, he picks up a little pitcher and pours something white into the bowl. “Is cream all right?”

“Yes, Master.” I nod vigorously, grateful for the chance to be agreeable.

He nods as well and seems to reach some conclusion in his own mind. I can only pray that whatever it is, it doesn’t involve taking the food away.

He similarly announces himself when he adds honey, blueberries, and raspberries. Then he sets the bowl on one of the trays and adds several slices of toast before returning to the bed.

Master leans in to set the tray on my lap. I strain to catch a whiff of his scent, but it’s no use over the wonderful aroma of the meal right below my nose. Instead of immediately straightening, he lifts a hand and scratches me gently behind my ear. My eyes flutter shut, and I feel my body loosen. 

“Oh, I forgot your tea,” he says, and pulls away. “Just a moment. Did you like the way it tasted last night?”

“Yes, Master.” It’s almost a whimper. The tension that had left me floods back at the memory of last night.

When he returns with a steaming mug, the scent does little to relax me. A quick glance around the room is all it takes to see the wide expanse of stained carpet next to the bookshelf. The bucket and other supplies are nowhere to be seen- Master must have cleaned up last night while I slept. I have to add the price of a ruined carpet, the carriage ride, the visit to the clinic, and the medicine he purchased to the ever-expanding amount I’ve cost him. Yesterday alone, Master probably paid more for my stupidity than I went for the first time I was sold. Surely he’s angry? I risk looking at him while he prepares a second bowl, but it’s impossible to tell. He doesn’t move the dishes roughly, and there’s no tension in his shoulders.

When he turns back around, holding the second tray, I have to drop my eyes quickly to avoid being caught. He settles back into the chair and balances the tray on his knees.

“Go ahead and eat, Blue,” he tells me as he lifts his own spoon to his mouth.

I’ve barely dared to look at the bowl in my lap. It’s full almost to the brim. I can’t even see the oatmeal under all the blue and red berries, swimming in thick ivory-colored cream. I cautiously dip up one of the red berries and a generous amount of cream and pop the spoon into my mouth.

The cream is rich and good, and when I bite down on the berry my eyes close involuntarily and I let out a soft moan. I tense up as soon as I realize that I’ve made noise without permission, but Master is chuckling.

“Raspberries are my favorite, too,” he says, and my ears perk up. I wish I could understand how exactly I’ve managed to please Master by sitting in his bed and eating his food, but for now it’s enough that I have.

We eat in silence for several long moments. The oatmeal feels so wonderful going down my throat, and it leaves a pleasant, heavy warmth in my stomach. I discover that I can taste the berries even better if I use my tongue to press them against the roof of my mouth instead of biting them, so I do, savoring each small explosion of fresh, sweet juice. How is it that every meal Master gives me seems better than the last?

My stomach begins to feel full before the bowl is even a quarter empty. I slow my bites, but I want to keep feeling that comforting heat in my belly. I reach for the tea, which I’d ignored until now in favor of the food.

I’m too hasty. The mug is heavier than I expected, and my arm wavers as I lift it. Hot tea slops over the rim and splatters onto me. 

Onto my Master’s clothes, my Master’s sheets.

My distressed whimper draws Master’s attention, and almost at once his hands go around mine, steadying the mug and keeping it from spilling any more.

“Blue! Are you all right? Was it too hot? Are you burned?”

Before I can think of a response, he’s already pulled the mug from my trembling hands and pushed my tray to the unoccupied side of the bed. There is a loud clatter as he sets his own tray heedlessly on the floor. He pushes the sheets aside and lifts the hem of my shirt to examine the skin under the dark, wet spots.

“Good,” he murmurs. “No burns. Does it hurt? I’m sorry, I didn’t think it would be all that hot anymore.”

It’s the utter wrongness of his apology that does it. The pounding panic in my skull finally breaks loose and swallows my body whole. Before I know what I’m doing, I’ve thrashed free of hands and sheets alike and flung myself onto the floor beside the bed. _Stupid stupid clumsy worthless this is finally it he’s going to hurt me _… I crumple on the carpet, pressing my forehead against Master’s feet.__

____

“I am s-so sorry for s-spilling on your sheets, Master, please p-punish me as you see fit!” I cry, and immediately my entire body relaxes. 

____

All morning, everything has been wrong. The world has shifted under me like water, leaving me unsure where it is safe to put my weight. But finally, everything is as it should be. I am on the floor where I belong, requesting my punishment like a good familiar, and even though I dread the pain of the blows, some part of me welcomes it. Master will punish me and the world will make sense again.

____

Master pulls his feet out from under me, and I lie still. I hear the rasp of his chair being pushed backwards over the carpet, then feel movement as he shifts above me. I flinch reflexively when his hands settle on me, but they aren’t raining down blows. Instead, they cup my shoulders and pull me up, gently but firmly. I comply immediately, rising up to my knees, until my eyes are level with Master’s chest.

____

“It’s all right, Blue,” he soothes, moving one hand up to card his fingers though my hair. “I’m not going to punish you. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

____

My stomach plummets.

____

Stars, I'm actually disappointed. What kind of idiot pet wants their master to get angry with them?

____

But I do. I want to know whether Master’s anger runs hot or cold, whether it comes on suddenly or there are warning signs, whether he punishes with blows or isolation or humiliation or loss of privileges or all of them, whether he gets over his rage quickly or whether it simmers for days. These are things that I need to know to survive, and if he never gets angry with me, how will I ever find them out? If I never learn how to tell when he’s about to beat me, how will I know when he’s about to sell me or kill me?

____

I don’t realize I’m crying until a ragged little sob bursts out of my mouth. Master pulls me against his chest, and I can’t help burrowing there, seeking and finding his heartbeat. His smell, his warmth, the sound of his heart and the feel of his hand in my hair becomes my entire world, and the thrashing in my chest eases until I no longer feel the need to escape my own skin. My tears slow, then stop. 

____

“Are you feeling better?” Master asks, and I relish the way my nearness lets me feel the vibrations of his voice in his chest. I am reluctant to nod and give up my perfect, safe cocoon, but I know better than to lie. I wouldn’t want my master to think I’m taking advantage of his propensity to indulge me with physical contact and refuse to ever hold me again. I think that’s the only punishment that not even the smallest part of me would welcome. 

____

When Master pulls back, he keeps his hands on my shoulders, his thumbs making little soothing circles over my flesh.

____

“Blue, would you please look at me?” he asks, and my eyes lift at once.

____

His face is lined with concern and his eyes are worried as he looks at me, but he smiles softly when I meet his gaze.

____

“Breakfast in bed can be messy,” he says. “I was going to change the sheets today, anyway. Did you get enough to eat?”

____

I nod, not trusting my voice.

____

“Good. I’m going to pick you up now, all right? Don’t panic.”

____

All my life, I hated being picked up. It always led to pain- being dropped, flung against the wall, thrown into a thorn bush on one memorable occasion. But I’m coming to love being carried by this master. Now that my panic has subsided, the strong arms that lift me feel like a promise, not a threat.

____

He carries me to the bathroom and fills the tub with warm water. It scares me a little, how quickly I assume that the bath is meant for me. I must be careful not to start expecting the privileges Master is kind enough to grant me. That will only make it more painful when he comes to understand the proper handling of familiars and they begin to disappear. 

____

For today, however, I am proven right when he helps me out of my tea-spattered clothes and sets me carefully in the water. It feels just as wonderful as before, and I have to work to keep from moaning in pleasure. 

____

“Here.” Master hands me a soft washcloth. “I’ll go clean up in the bedroom, then come help you wash your hair.”

____

Shame swallows me. I should be doing those chores, not luxuriating in the bath while my Master does my job. But then, yesterday probably proved to him that I can’t be trusted to manage even the simplest chores by myself. 

____

I speak up as he gathers the discarded clothes and begins to leave the room.

____

“M-Master!” I hate how weak my voice sounds after crying. What if Master thinks I’m trying to play on his sympathies? “May I…. do I have your permission to wash… inside?”

____

I gesture down in the general direction of my lap, feeling my face flush. Master freezes in the doorway, and when he doesn’t immediately respond I get nervous and begin babbling.

____

“I-I promise not to pleasure myself, I would never-”

____

“Blue.” His voice is weary, and my ears pull tight against my head. “Of course. Of course you can clean yourself there. I’ll be back soon.”

____

It feels good to clean the places where the doctor touched me, as if my own hands and the hot water my Master has granted me are scouring him away. 

____

Before long, Master returns and, true to his word, helps wash my hair.

____

“I want you to do something for me,” he says as he works more of his sweet-smelling products into my hair.

____

“Anything, Master.” It makes me nervous to agree without knowing what he wants, but it’s not as if my agreement really means anything. It’s best just to show myself to be obedient and eager to please, no matter what my orders will turn out to be.

____

“I want you to stay in bed for a few days. We need to get your feet fully healed by the time classes start, and it’ll be easier if you can stay off them.” Master levitates some water to rinse my hair. “I know it will be boring, but I’ll sit with you and we’ll make sure to keep you clean and change the sheets every few days so you don’t feel too greasy.”

____

I start to nod, then catch myself. I don’t want to interfere with his work on my hair. “Of course, Master.”

____

This won’t offer me any chances to redeem myself as a housekeeper. But it’s a relief to know that when he uses me for the first time, it will be in the soft bed. My knees are still sore, and it will help me to perform well if I’m not being distracted by the pain. I’ve failed so abysmally in every other respect, I’m determined to at least prove my usefulness as a pleasure slave. When Master finally decides to take me, I’m going to give the performance of my life.

____

Apparently that won’t be happening just yet, as Master dresses me in a fresh set of his clothes before lifting me again and carrying me back to the bedroom. There’s no sign of our breakfast anywhere, and the bed is made up with new sheets and blankets. Master sets me on the edge of the bed and returns to his chair, pulling a small jar from his pocket. When he unscrews the lid, a strong medicinal smell fills the air, and it’s all I can do not to screw my face up.

____

“Can you give me your feet, Blue?” Master asks. I obey at once.

____

Master swipes a little of the cream out of the jar, then picks up my left foot and begins massaging it into my sole. I keep my eyes on his hands.

____

They don’t seem like a master’s hands. All my previous masters had smooth, soft hands, but they were always using them to strike and pinch and twist. This master has hands more like the guards at the cages, rough with work, with strong, large-knuckled fingers and nails pared close to keep them out of the way, like a servant’s. Even now, as he massages the cream into my foot, I can feel the strength in his hands, and I know that if he wanted, he could hurt me far worse than any of my other masters. He could probably break every bone in my body without even breaking a sweat of his own. The thought stirs my guts with unease, and I wish again that he would get angry with me, just once. But his hands on me are careful, and when he’s done with my left foot, he gives it a gentle, comforting squeeze before setting it down and reaching for the right.

____

“Good job, Blue,” he says warmly as he begins the process over. “You’re being very patient. I’m proud of you.”

____

I can’t help preening. I could work my whole life without deserving those words from my wonderful Master, but if he sees fit to give them to me, then just like the baths, the food, the patience, the bed, the gentle touches- I will accept them, with a silent prayer of gratitude to whatever might be listening. I pair this with another unspoken prayer, this one directed at the man in front of me, who holds more power over me than any god anyway:

____

_I want to always be yours, Master. Please keep me forever. ___

____


End file.
